


Trust

by Jojora



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Fights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojora/pseuds/Jojora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver finds drugs in Connor's pants pocket and it leads to an argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

Oliver had just been trying to clean the apartment. He hadn’t been snooping. He hadn’t even been suspicious or had any reason to snoop. He was just trying to do some laundry and do something nice for his boyfriend, who worked long hours and studied hard, and deserved to be taken care of every once in awhile. He was just trying to be a good boyfriend, and now they were here. 

Both men sat across from each other at the kitchen table, eyeing each other warily. A small bag of cocaine was in the middle of the table. Connor had just gotten out of the shower, saw Oliver sitting there with it, and slowly sat down across from him. Neither of them had said a word yet and the small bag seemed to just sit there, sucking all of the air out of the room.

“It’s not what you think.” Connor finally spoke, slowly and calmly, knowing even as the words came out that they sounded like a cliché. But they weren’t. 

“Oh? Is it just a little extra baking powder you carry around, in case you suddenly want to make some cookies?” Oliver spat back.

“It’s not mine.” Connor replied, even though he was cringing inside, knowing just how pathetic that line sounded. 

Oliver scoffed. 

“Why were you going through my stuff?” Connor asked, his voice coming out harsh and defensive, his anger rising despite himself, instinctively matching Oliver’s abrasive approach to the situation. 

“I wasn’t going through your stuff, Connor. I was doing laundry. I was trying to do something nice.” 

“Well, it’s not mine” Connor repeated a second time, even more firmly than the first time. 

“Bullshit.” Oliver breathed. 

“You don’t trust me?” Connor asked, an edge to his tone. He flinched inwardly, knowing that Oliver had absolutely no reason to trust him, since the argument they were currently having was based on a massive lie about him being a drug addict in the first place. But he ignored that, easily dismissing it under the anger that was rising in his blood. 

Oliver bit back his reply, not wanting to admit out loud that he didn’t trust Connor, but feeling as though he was being lied to nonetheless. “I found a bag of cocaine in your pants pocket, Connor,” he finally stated and the words very strongly implied that no, at this moment, he did not trust his boyfriend or believe a word he was saying. 

“It’s. Not. Mine.” Connor said it again, his voice rising this time. His body was tense now, his hands fisted, and a logical Connor would know that he should calmly explain the situation but the anger was making it difficult for him to think clearly. He felt attacked by Oliver’s harsh tone and his critical glare.

Oliver just shook his head and stood up, turning his back to Connor and taking the few steps to the kitchen counter. He put his hands against the cool tile and leaned his head down, taking a deep breath. “Damn it, Connor” he muttered. 

“Fine, Oliver” Connor’s voice was almost shouting now as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll fucking prove it to you, since you don’t fucking believe me.” He dialed a number and put the phone on speaker. 

“Hello?” Laurel’s friendly voice rang out awkwardly into the harsh air in the room. 

“Hey, Laurel, can you tell me where we were this evening?” Connor asked, his voice still laced with a rough tone but he kept it steady.

“Um… at our client’s house?” she answered, but it came out sounding confused as though she had no idea why he was asking this. 

“Right. And what were we doing there?” he asked. 

Laurel hesitated at the incriminating question, but responded. “We found out the police were about to search it, so we were trying to get rid of any incriminating evidence. Connor, what –“ 

But Connor cut off her question. “And what happened right before the police arrived?” 

“You found a bag of cocaine at the last minute and slipped it into your pocket, because there was no time to get rid of it.” Laurel had given up trying to figure out the point behind the obvious questions. 

“Thanks, Laurel.” And Connor hung up the phone before she could respond again. 

Oliver slowly turned back towards Connor. His face had softened and he looked a little guilty. 

Connor was still fuming, though. He snatched up his phone and made his way to the front door. 

“Connor, wait!” Oliver called out after him.

Connor ignored him and began to slip on his shoes. He knew he was being a jerk, but he was hurt. Hurt by the accusation. Hurt by the judgment and disapproval he had seen in Oliver’s eyes. 

“Connor!” Oliver sounded exasperated as he ran over and grabbed Connor’s arm. “Connor, I’m sorry! But what was I supposed to think, when I find a bag of drugs in the pocket of my ex-drug addict boyfriend?” 

“I don’t know, maybe think to ask him about it?” Connor spat, pulling his arm out of Oliver’s grip. “Maybe don’t just treat him like he’s a lying piece of shit, but give him the benefit of the doubt?” 

Oliver hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. Guilt panged at Connor’s insides as he watched Oliver flinch at the words, but in some ways the guilt just made him angrier. 

“You don’t trust me,” Connor muttered, and his voice cracked slightly at the end. He knew even as he said the words that he wasn’t upset about this situation at all. Any rational person would have thought what Oliver thought. But Connor’s distress was caused by something much deeper; it was anger at himself for the lies that had piled up and led them here, and even deeper down, it was a defensive reaction to an overwhelming fear of losing Oliver. Oliver’s look of disappointment and betrayal at finding the bag of drugs would be nothing compared to the reaction he would have if he knew the truth. His reluctance to believe Connor would be a complete unwillingness to see Connor's side of the story about the murders. 

“Connor…” Oliver whined helplessly, at a loss for what else to say, and Connor sighed. 30 minutes ago he had been getting ready to get out of the shower and go out to dinner with his boyfriend, and now things were complicated again and his brain was buzzing with all of the same worries that plagued him often, sometimes keeping him up at night. 

“I just need to go for a walk and clear my head, Ollie.” His voice was softer now, all the anger gone and replaced with exhaustion.

Oliver visibly relaxed at the familiar nickname. He nodded and reached out to drape his hands over Connor’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled Connor in for a hug, hanging on tightly for a moment before releasing him. 

Connor gave Oliver a small, sad smile and left the apartment, lingering for a moment after he had closed the door. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked away, down the stairs, and down the sidewalk. He wondered if this was how life would always be: an invisible wall of lies between them, fights laced with unspoken words underneath, and a constant gnawing of guilt and self-hatred in the pit of his stomach. 

But if that was what he had to do to keep Oliver around, he knew he would do it.


End file.
